


Quadruple Shot

by themegalosaurus



Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-15 19:28:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18675982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themegalosaurus/pseuds/themegalosaurus
Summary: Jensen’s trying to unjam the espresso machine when Jared comes over and taps him on the shoulder and says into his ear, “Dude, dude, check it out, Sam and Dean at your four o’clock.”





	Quadruple Shot

**Author's Note:**

> This is written for [the Twisted Tropes event](https://twisted-tropes.livejournal.com) on LJ and I'm posting it WIP because I don't want to miss the posting date! The second half will be forthcoming shortly (the dark and substantial draught to which this is merely the preliminary froth, you might say).

Jensen’s trying to unjam the espresso machine when Jared comes over and taps him on the shoulder and says into his ear, “Dude, dude, check it out, Sam and Dean at your four o’clock.”

Trying for subtlety, Jensen takes a peek. One of the guys has his back to him but he can see long hair and broad shoulders, which obviously indicates Sam. “Dean” is scowling over some papers they have spread out on the table. “Oh, come on,” he says to Jared. “Those guys are too old.”

Jared punches him in the shoulder. “No way. I’m telling you. They’re perfect. They have the, like, folder of mysterious documents. They have the banter. They’re bickering.”

Jensen takes another look. “What are they drinking?”

“Black coffee, extra shot.”

“Both of them?”

“Yeah.”

“Terrible,” says Jensen. “Sam likes a lightly foamed latteccino and you know it.”

“Dean has _freckles_ ,” Jared says. “They’re almost as nice as yours.”

He kisses Jensen on the nose. Jensen rolls his eyes.

It takes almost half an hour to get the machine up and running. Jensen’s just shaking the last clogged grounds out of the filter as Sam and Dean make their exit. Face-to-face, he has to admit that Jared’s suggestion wasn’t totally off. Both guys have the height - Sam must be as tall as Jare, or even bigger - and there’s something about the synchronicity of their movement that works for his idea of the guys. He’s gazing at them critically when Jared looms into view in the background, wiping down their table, and mouths at Jensen conspicuously, “F… B… I.” Then he makes air quotes with his fingers and raises his eyebrows meaningfully.

There are people in the fandom who genuinely believe that Sam and Dean are real. Tinhatters, they call themselves. Conspiracy theorists. Jensen has always found the suggestion entertaining but fundamentally implausible. Jared, like Mulder, wants to believe.

Jensen shakes his head.

 

~

 

“If it was Sam and Dean,” Jared says to him that evening, “would you let me sleep with them?”

“ _Let_ you?”

“You know. Like, a cheat sheet. Celebrity fidelity exceptions.”

“Fictional celebrities. Not too threatening.” Jensen pauses. “Actually, let me clarify this first: _both_ of them?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Jared says. “Where could I ever have gotten that idea.” This is fair. Jensen has written Sam/Dean/OC threesome fics before. Jared has kudo’d them. In fact, there was an amusing moment shortly after Jared started working at the cafe, a few days after they’d figured out that they were both into Supernatural, when Jensen accidentally let it slip that he wrote fic. Jared had bullied him into revealing his pseudonym and promptly flipped out; apparently, he was a long-time subscriber and full-on fanboy for Jensen’s stuff. It probably says bad things about Jensen’s ego that he’d first hooked up with Jared that same night, a long make-out session in the kitchen after close. A couple dates later, Jensen was in no doubt about the perks of inadvertently advertising one’s kinks to a new sexual partner before getting started.

Basking in the memories, he feels generous. “Do you know what? Sure. I extend my permission. If you run into real-life Sam and Dean, feel free to seduce them. Or try to seduce them.”

Jared pouts and then breaks into a grin. His dimples pop. Jensen’s heart does a familiar flip and he thinks, yeah, probably Jared wouldn’t have too much difficulty on that front.

He clears his throat. “You’re stuck with me till then, though.”

“Mm,” says Jared. He climbs up onto Jensen’s lap, straddling him. “I can live with that.”

 

~

 

Sam is back in the shop the next morning. He takes two coffees to go and then comes back almost immediately for a piece of blueberry pie. Jensen boxes it up for him and wonders. “Do you want this left open?” he says.

“Oh,” Sam says. “No, thank you. It’s not for me.”

Jensen watches his retreating back with narrowed eyes.

 

~

 

Two days later, when Jared texts him a picture of a black Chevy Impala parked in the street outside the shop, it’s not hard for Jensen to parse the four exclamation marks that are the only accompanying message. The car has gone by the time Jensen arrives for his shift, but Jared’s delight shows no sign of dissipating.

“The fricking Impala, Jensen,” he says. “Frickin’ Baby herself.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Jensen might be more of an agnostic these days, but his role in these conversations is well established. Jared would be disappointed to have it any other way. “Maybe they’re cosplayers. Did you think about that?”

“Oh, come on,” says Jared. “Who are they cosplaying _for_?”

Jensen raises an eyebrow. “Each other.”

“Mm,” says Jared. “Hot.” He casts a quick glance around the shop, which is not busy, before tugging Jensen by the apron string into the very corner of the counter, against the machines. He bites at the skin under Jensen’s ear and whispers, “You think they bang in the car?”

Jensen breathes in sharply. “Yeah, right.” The bell chimes above the door and he steps reluctantly backward, moving towards the register. “Two guys that size?”

“Oh my God,” Jared says. “You used to be fun.”

“Oh baby,” says Jensen wtth an exaggerated purr, “I’ll show you how much fun I can be.”

The middle-aged woman at the counter clears her throat. Jared grins at her, blinding. “I’m sorry, ma’am. What can we get for you today?”

Later that night they drive Jared’s janky 2002 Ford Focus out to the lookout point above the town.

Jensen’s right. There really isn’t enough room.

 

~

 

On weekends the shop stays open late. Jensen is working solo when Sam shows up with a laptop and slumps into a booth in the far corner. He looks wrecked. There are grey circles under his eyes and his hair is unwashed. A dark shadow of stubble runs across his jawline. His suit is crumpled.

He orders a triple-shot espresso. “On the house,” Jensen says, and Sam really looks at him for the first time.

“Thanks, man.”

“No problem,” Jensen says. Jared’s going to kill him if he doesn’t at least try to take advantage of this opportunity. “Your partner not with you?”

Sam frowns. There’s something lovely about his eyes. They have the same shifting colours as Jared’s. “He’s busy.” He squints at Jensen quizzically for a moment before lifting the cup in acknowledgement and heading back to the table.

The night wears on. The other customers leave. Sam is still there, his face illuminated in the laptop’s cyan-blue glow. Jensen’s cellphone buzzes in his pocket.

“DUDE YOU WON’T BELIEVE WHO IS AT THIS BAR”. Another buzz and a dark, blurry photo appears. “IMMA GO SCHMOOZE HIM HE IS FINE AF”. Buzz. “SRSLY THO IS THAT COOL”.

“GO FOR IT,” Jensen types. He looks over at Sam.

The way that Sam is sitting is such that his laptop screen is mostly hidden by the bulk of those ample shoulders; but as Jensen approaches, he catches a glimpse of a woodcut illustration, some creature with fur and fangs. “Need a refill?” he asks, and Sam jumps bodily, snapping the laptop closed.

“Sure,” he says, turning toward Jensen. “Thanks.”

A giddy recklessness swells in Jensen’s stomach. He perches on the table next to Sam’s. “You’re working late.”

Sam smiles. His eyes crinkle and he reveals a lethal set of dimples. Oh no, Jensen thinks. “I could say the same for you.”

“Eh, late shift isn’t so bad,” says Jensen. “I trade for it a lot of the time. Beats the morning rush.”

Sam leans back on his chair and stretches his arms, rolls his shoulders. Jensen watches the muscles shifting under his shirt. Dude is built. “I get it. I’m kind of a night owl, too. I actually, uh, I worked a coffee shop job in college. Silicon valley types love their caffeine. Terrible tippers, though.”

“Rich guys are always the worst,” says Jensen agreeably, fighting to maintain composure. A tingling sensation has originated somewhere at the base of his neck and is spreading slowly over his skin. His cellphone vibrates against his thigh, making him jump.

“Do you need to get that?”

“Oh, no, it’s probably just my boyfriend.”

“Oh,” says Sam in a funny tone of voice. He tips his chair upright and tucks his hair behind his ears.

“We’re, uh, not exclusive,” says Jensen and turns bright red. They _are_ exclusive. Or. Well. Jared was the one who came up with that whole rule about exceptions. “I’ll just, um,” he says, and looks at the phone, which is buzzing like a startled wasp. “FUCKING FUCK JEN YOU WILL NOT BELIEVE WHAT HIS NAME IS” “I THINK IT’S ACTUALLY HIM” “IF YOU SRSLY DON’T WANT ME TO TRY AND HAVE SEX WITH HIM YOU BETTER LMK RIGHT NOW” “I THINK I MAYBE HAD ONE TOO MANY TEQUILAS FOR THIS”.

“GO WILD,” he types, and then adds, “SAM IS IN THE CAFE RIGHT NOW SO…”

Jared sends back three flame emojis. Jensen slips the phone back into his pocket and smiles at Sam. “Sorry. We were saying.”

“ _You_ were saying, not exclusive,” says Sam. The corner of his mouth tugs upward and Jensen’s chest dissolves into warm liquidity.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I was saying that. Um. I actually.” Fuck it, right? “We close in about twenty-five minutes. If you, um. If you’re able to stick around until then.”


End file.
